PR0W1
by AotA
Summary: A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.  The title should be PR-0W-1, not PR0W1, but FF refuses to keep the dashes.  05/23: Two posts ch 5 & 6.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (1/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– Metronome (OC), Jazz (mentioned), Ricochet, Bivouac (OC)

**Warnings** – child endangerment, death

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Summary** – A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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Metronome was panicking. He really didn't want to, but he just couldn't help it.

Jazz was missing.

He hardly noticed when he nearly knocked Ricochet over until he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a stop.

"Metro—Metronome! Calm down!" Ricochet wasn't letting go. He had to go. Jazz was missing. Didn't Ricochet realize that? "What's wrong 'Nome?"

What is wrong? What is _wrong?_ Metronome could feel the time ticking away. _Jazz, Jazz, Jazz_. He had to find him. _Oh Primus!_ "Have you seen Jazz?" Metronome could feel his spark pulsing frantically in its chamber. If he hadn't been so frantic he might have even worried that he would have an arc out it was acting so wildly.

"Seen Ja—? What? No. I haven't seen Jazz… Wasn't he with you?" Ricochet began to tense.

"He's _gone!_" Metronome wailed and jerked away, ready to dash away again, but Ricochet tackled him so that he couldn't. _Jazz!_

"Calm _down!_" Ricochet said in his Commander Voice, "We'll tell Security—"

"No!" Metronome began his struggles anew, "He's gone! He's gone!"

"Slaggit!" Ricochet snarled, wrestling with Metronome as he opened a comm channel to Security, "Has anyone seen a youngling wandering around alone down here? Silver, rather small, wearing a visor. Name's Jazz."

There was no response.

"Security: Respond!"

When Security finally responded, Bivouac's voice was hollow, "We see him. Get up here, _now_. You can't be down there right now!"

There was a wail of sirens and flash of lights. A synthesized voice began speaking over the hallway communication unit, "Warning. Warning. Simulation: Begin. Simulation layout: Confirmed. All personnel: Clear. Lockdown: Commencing, completion in T-minus 1 Br."

Ricochet swore and hauled Metronome upright. He dragged him toward the door that he should have left from nearly a breem ago. They made it out just at the door began closing.

"Lockdown: Complete. Simulation: Start."

Metronome _screamed_.

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Please visit http : / a-o-t-a . livejournal . com / for what's going on and update status.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (2/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– PR-0W-1 (Prowl), Jazz

**Warnings** – child endangerment, death

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Summary** – A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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PR-0W-1 stalked down the corridor silently. There were ten targets… No, PR-0W-1 revised, sensing another one, eleven targets. An erroneous intel, improvisation test? Likely. Was there significance attached to the unidentified target? Possibly. Not enough information to tell. PR-0W-1 disliked these kinds of tests immensely.

The first target, PR-0W-1 speared through the back and crushed the mech's spark chamber, absorbing the spark into specialty made stasis canisters. Bright blue-white energon coated his claws. He had a fifty spark capacity, not counting the one that pulsed within his own chamber. Once the spark was removed, PR-0W-1 lay the mech down and extracted the memory core. This he placed within a specialized subspace compartment. He could store about twenty-five memory cores in his subspace safely, depending on the size of the cores. PR-0W-1 searched for anything else that he should take and placed the shell in a location that he had previously noticed and marked for disposal of the dead.

One down. Ten to go.

Calculations spun though his processor and battle computer. Paths to the future opened before him. PR-0W-1 swept through the base, capturing sparks and memory cores without a single misstep. Some more ugly than others, with the second to last target having to be put down by his pulse cannon when he simply refused to go down easily and painlessly. By this point in his training, this kind of infiltration-assassination mission was exceedingly easy. Or it was until he found himself targeting the last mark with his pulse cannon.

A _youngling_?

It was huddled in a corner, pulled into as small a shape as it could, shaking. They had never included a youngling in one of his exercises before. Was he supposed to terminate it as well? Or was this one of the tests that they didn't tell him they were testing him on.

His overall orders, the ones that he lived his orn to orn life by, stated that he was not to harm younglings, but his mission orders demanded the elimination of all targets in the simulation area. PR-0W-1 winced as he tried to decide what to do as his logic systems tried to reconcile the conflicting orders. The two sets of orders were completely contradictory to each other, and he had no option for clarity of the orders. Not harming civilians was something that he was supposed to keep to, and that order was especially emphasized in the case of younglings and sparklings. But mission orders tended to override those basic orders of his non-mission existence. And mission orders required the elimination or all targets. But it was the reinforcement of non-harm in the case of younglings that let it match the weight of mission orders. It was an unending processor loop.

PR-0W-1 whined, and pressed his hand against his head as the ache moved into blinding pain, but the level of his pulse cannon didn't waver. The youngling looked up at him with an optical visor, startled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (3/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– Ricochet, Bivouac (OC), PR-0W-1 (Prowl), Jazz

**Warnings** – child endangerment, death

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Summary** – A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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Ricochet watched, worried out of his processor as he watched over his sparkling. He had failed in getting his superiors to stop the test and now he could only pray to Primus that little Jazz was spared. Once the simulation started, a simple security mech had no chance of stopping it and Metronome had had to be knocked offline because of his hysteria and inability to control himself. Metronome only had slightly better chances of stopping it as a junior tech. Ricochet was close to joining him, but someone had to keep watch over Jazz. Someone who cared if he lived or died.

The glare of the monitors reflected off the faces of the Security team that was monitoring the situation. All of them would have called off the whole thing if they had the authority to, but the ones who developed PR-0W-1 decided that it was a _good_ test, never mind that Jazz was just a youngling, completely innocent of any wrongdoing. When Ricochet had realized that they just didn't _care_, he had begun to hate them. All the mechs who saw _his youngling_ as nothing more than an interesting variable. A data point to test their precious weapon with.

Bivouac was watching the screen with a pained face as PR-0W-1 aimed at Jazz with his pulse cannon. "No, PR-0W-1. Don't do it. Come on. He's a youngling, PR-0W-1, just a youngling." He kept up his pleadings even though PR-0W-1 wouldn't hear him. Bivouac was one of the few mechs on Security that had contact with the weapon, but both of them were surprised when they saw PR-0W-1 pause for a long moment. They were doubly surprised with they saw pain flicker across PR-0W-1's face and he clutched his helm.

"What?" Ricochet murmured in surprised relief, "Is he…?"

Bivouac didn't relax though, seeing that PR-0W-1's pulse cannon hadn't shifted in the slightest. "He doesn't know what to do," he murmured, not relaxing, but daring to hope.

After a long, tense moment, PR-0W-1 straightened, all signs of confusion fading back into the normal implacable mask, and approached Jazz with his pulse cannon still locked onto him. Every mech on the Security team felt their hopes plummet and they turned their heads away, not wanting to see the death of the bright little one that brightened so many mech's days but Ricochet leapt at the board and scrabbled at the controls, wanting to find some way to stop this.

He hit the hallway communication unit closest to them and spoke into it, but received an error message instead, stating that all internal communications were disabled until the end of the exercise. Ricochet swore and slammed his hands down on the panel with helpless rage and grief.

He hated this. Hated it. Hated it. _Hated it_. Ricochet would kill ever single last one of those monsters that had sacrificed his creation in the name of _science_. They were _dead_ when he got his hands on them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (4/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– PR-0W-1 (Prowl), Jazz, Downside (OC)

**Warnings** – child endangerment

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Summary** – A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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PR-0W-1 approached the wary, frightened youngling but didn't put his cannon down in case it _was_ a trap. "Stand up," he ordered, "Slowly."

It cautiously rose to its pedes with its visor locked firmly on his cannon, terror obvious even to PR-0W-1.

"What is your designation?"

"Jazz," it said surprisingly clearly, voice confident even as his facial features broadcast his fear.

PR-0W-1 wondered if all younglings were like this one or if its bravado was an oddity. "Step closer," he told it. He had a pair of stasis cuffs which would neutralize any threat that the youngling might pose and that would end the simulation once he returned to the exit. He would bring the youngling with him and his handler would take care of it. PR-0W-1 hoped that this was what he was supposed to be doing, but he had decided that it would be better to return with the youngling as a captive than to terminate it if he should have left it alive. Termination could be carried out later if necessary but the reverse was not possible.

Jazz stopped a short distance from him, "Hands." PR-0W-1 saw that they had already been dedicated in the form of claws, similar to his own as it held them out. He quickly snapped the stasis cuffs around the small wrists, downsizing them dramatically as they were made for larger mechs than younglings. Jazz froze in place and PR-0W-1 lowered his pulse cannon. He sensed no more targets so all that was left was for him to leave… with the youngling.

PR-0W-1 manipulated Jazz up onto his back, snug between his sensor panels and magnetized their armors together. It wasn't comfortable but it couldn't get in the way where he had placed it. He couldn't afford to relax until the simulation was officially over. He had made that mistake before and paid for it.

For once, his vigilance went unrewarded. There were no ambushes from targets that he didn't sense and no unforeseen arrivals of new targets. The trek to the exit was strangely quiet. The mission was so easy that PR-0W-1 was feeling almost anxious. His training told him that the simulation had been far too easy, but he arrived at the exit unmolested. Was the youngling truly what the simulation was about? It was puzzling… What was the point of the test?

PR-0W-1 was met at the exit by his handler who looked him over and gestured for him to hand over the youngling. PR-0W-1 unlatched it and lowered it to the ground in front of him, then took a step back.

"Good work," his handler congratulated him.

PR-0W-1 stared him up and down. …Strange. Why was he being congratulated? "Sir?"

"We will refine your decision trees, PR-0W-1. This test has revealed an area that needs work but you made the proper choice despite that deficiency. We will be going over it at a later time."

PR-0W-1 saluted, pressing his balled fist to his spark, smearing the energon of the targets across his breastplate, "Sir!"

"You are dismissed, PR-0W-1. Return to base."

He bowed his head and exited the room, but not before he saw his handler crouch down in front of the youngling and remove the stasis cuffs. He nearly ran into a black and white Security mech who was standing right outside the door. PR-0W-1 frowned at him but left without a word.

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I have been having issues uploading to FFN so if you want to, you can visit LJ at http : / a-o-t-a . livejournal . com / and find the "series: pr-0w-1" tag in the sidebar. I often update there faster and with more stuff than on FFN.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (5/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– Ricochet, Jazz, Downside (OC)

**Warnings** – child endangerment, death

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Summary** – A careless mistake leads to a youngling nearly being killed in a weapon test simulation gone wrong. The weapon, PR-0W-1, decides the youngling's fate.

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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Ricochet practically had his spark freeze as he watched the weapon walk away, covered in energon. _Sweet Primus!_ It felt as though he had just been dunked in liquid nitrogen.

That was the thing that had nearly killed Jazz. He opened the door and stepped inside, relieved to see Jazz inside. He dashed over and collapsed to his knees by Jazz and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Oh, Jazz… I almost lost you. You're okay, Little Dancer, you're okay…"

Jazz began to tremble, then cry, words falling over and over each other, running from his mouth in an incomprehensible waterfall against Ricochet's chest. Ricochet swallowed his anger beneath his love for his creation. Jazz didn't deserve to see his anger. His little claws wrapped as far as they could around his creator, grasping tightly.

"I've got you," Ricochet whispered to his youngling.

Downside stood off a little ways, still holding the stasis cuffs when Ricochet looked up, a grim expression on his face. Ricochet opened his mouth to tell him to leave, when the weapon's handler opened a comm channel before he could say anything. 'You were extremely lucky this orn, Ricochet. _Jazz_ was extremely lucky. I know PR-0W-1's decision trees just about as well as I know my own, and they should have had him kill that youngling you have in your hands without a second thought.'

Ricochet pulled Jazz closer, fear for his life filling him all over again, and he realized that the close shave that had had was probably been even closer than he had thought.

Downside's optics lay heavy across him, 'I just thought you should know that you should be thankful that PR-0W-1 has such a kind, cautious spark.'

_Kind?_ Ricochet would hardly call a mech that had just slaughtered ten others and cuffed his creation _kind_, but…

'Never bring the youngling here again, Ricochet,' Downside warned seriously, 'And that goes for Metronome too. Tell him that. This could have been a disaster like no other, and it could have destroyed PR-0W-1 if he had made the mistake of killing him like his decision trees told him to.'

He didn't care if he caused the destruction of PR-0W-1 or not, but it was the job of the weapon's handler to care about its condition but Ricochet locked optics with PR-0W-1's handler and nodded once anyway. Never again. He would never allow it. Downside inclined his head and turned to leave. The door opened and shut as Downside left. Ricochet shut off his optics and thanked Primus from the very depths of his spark for sparing his creation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title** - PR-0W-1 (6/6)

**Author** - AotA

**Rating** – K+

**Characters **– Jazz, Prowl

**Warnings** – child endangerment, death

**Setting** – pre-war movie verse, weapons development base

**Notes** – Metronome and Ricochet are Jazz's creators. Ricochet is part of base security, Metronome is part of the development team. This isn't important but: PR= Prototype Response [Unit], W=Watchman [Series]. Each part is extremely short, with the longest under 600 words. This has not seen the hands of a **beta** so if you see an error feel free to point it out to me. This is rather OC heavy for one of my fics.

**Disclaimer** – I do not own Transformers.

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Jazz stared at the Optimus Prime's second in command. That face… It had haunted his recharge for vorns since his youngling days… and now he had finally found the mech who wore it.

"PR-0W-1?" he whispered quietly out loud, and was rewarded by electric blue optics spearing him with a strength of intent that he remembered well.

Jazz smiled in the face of that old, old fear. He smiled too at the mech's impassive expression. It was the same as he remembered it: severe, but calm, strong, and, secretly, kind. He remembered his first sight of the mech, hunched over with pain, and learning at a time much, much later that he should have died in those short moments under the sights of PR-0W-1's weapon. He had overcome that fear remembering the feeling PR-0W-1's gentle spark resonate with his own

His carrier, Metronome, had died not long after that time. The strain that his job was putting on his spark had caused it to arced out in distress, and when he had lain in the medical bay he had only come online just long enough to look Jazz in the optics and whisper his love for his creation before graying completely. Metronome had been living on borrowed time since Jazz had been sparked, Ricochet told him nearly a vorn later, when the tugging pain of the severed bond on his spark finally made him fade away. Metronome had been badly hurt vorns before they had even met, Ricochet had said, but the mech had wanted a creation so badly…

Jazz still didn't believe that it was _only_ stress that had been the death of his creator.

Ricochet had lived just long enough to see Jazz become a full adult and had finally convinced the small silver mech to let him see him off on the rest of his life. He had bid his creation goodbye and only finally returned to Primus when Jazz was gone.

He had wondered what had become of PR-0W-1, the mech that had held his life in his hands and did so as gently as a conflicted, uninformed, and maladapted mech like him could. He had looked into the project as best he could, but hardly anything had turned up. It was as though the project that Metronome had been working on had never existed at all. Even though misfortune had followed his meeting the strange mech and both his creator's new jobs, he remained lacking in bitterness or anger. And even though he had been so young at the time, he had never, for one moment placed any blame at PR-0W-1's pedes.

That day was no one's fault, save for the ones who had wanted to see what their creation would do when faced with a situation that they had not expressly programmed him for.

"Prowl," PR-0W-1 told him.

"Prowl, huh?" Jazz murmured and his smile changed to gentle and quietly secretive, "Nice ta meetcha." He wanted to know the mech that PR-0W-1 had become. He wanted to know Prowl.

_For the Angel of Death hath passed me by_

_And he hath said to me, "Not yet, young one."_

"_You have much more to do before you die."_

_So I whirl on, saving for my very last dance,_

_Waiting to see his handsome face without fear._

_Dancing with Death, I offer him my adoration,_

_For the Angel of Death hath become most dear,_

_Hoping he will feel the same, without obligation._

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I'm going to write a few more bits and pieces that go in this series, so this isn't going to be all there is. I still have a number of ideas nipping at me.


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